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EXCERPT 3:
When they found a spot at the Oxford carpark, Lucy inwardly sighed with relief. It was where they wanted to be, close to The White Horse pub, where they had booked for lunch at 12:30, and not too far from Saint Mary the Virgin, the site of Amy’s tomb. She checked her watch. Just a little after noon – plenty of time to walk to the pub.
Before she had left for England, Max thought it hilarious that she wanted to go there, to this touristy pub. Until she explained it was because of her father. He had been a hard and fast fan of Inspector Morse. Before going to uni, thanks to all the times she had watched the series with her father and because of all the time Morse spent at The White Horse, she used to dream of that pub.
Besides that, it was a sixteenth-century pub. As a history-loving Australian, why wouldn’t she want to go there for lunch? It was also right next door to Blackwell’s. She had no desire to buy more research books to add to her luggage, but she could never resist popping into a good bookshop.
She slipped out of the passenger side of the car and opened the rear door to grab her small day backpack. Locking the door, she turned to Max. ‘Quarter past twelve. Just as you said last night. Even with the traffic, we still got here in time.’
He shrugged. ‘I live in London. I always factor in getting held up by traffic. Best get on our way. We will have to move the car after lunch. Hopefully, we will find another parking spot nearby.’ He gestured towards the nearby lane. ‘Stick to the pavements, Lucy. The bike riders around here think they own the roads.’
Well-kept English gardens lined the streets. Creeping, flowering wisteria festooned their purple flowers against old sandy-coloured stone buildings. English singsong voices reminded her she was no longer in her own country. People edged past them on the narrow pavement. Footsteps drummed a determined march on the uneven pavement before they faded away. Hearing another good-mannered, poshly spoken ‘Excuse me,’ almost made her giggle.
The siren of a police car screamed in the distance. There was no letup of the busy car traffic on the road. Bikes whizzed right next to the footpath. A gust of wind fluttered loose litter down the road. She hid a smile. Being a gentleman, Max walked on the side of the pavement closest to the traffic, keeping her safe from harm.
Closer to their destination stood the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen. A few early cowslips flowered at the edges of the long, green, manicured lawn.
Lucy took Max’s arm to stop him. She pointed to the bright yellow bells nodding in the breeze. ‘Good to see cowslips.’
‘Do you remember the stories your father told us about them?’
‘I remember him saying they once grew everywhere in England, but now only traces remain.’
‘He told us they once use them for decoration for maypoles. And don’t forget the fairies.’
Lucy laughed. ‘How can I forget the fairies? Do you remember the print of the cowslip fairy in my bedroom at home?’
‘The one using a cowslip as an umbrella?’
‘Yes – not like the stories Dad told us about the fairies seeking shelter in cowslips because of danger. Cowslips were regarded as quite magical.’
‘I remember best his stories about how they used them to treat everything under the sun.’
‘Like Tudors used them. I can see Amy Robsart using them during her time of illness.’
Still
thinking about cowslips, Lucy walked on beside Max.
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